(Miranda)
Lainey finally agrees to meet with her, in the same coffee shop as before. Miranda is nervous; what if they can't get past this? Chris thinks she's wasting her time.
"What the hell do you two have in common, anyway? You are nothing alike."
"What do you have against her? We've been friends forever, probably as long as you and Richard have," Miranda says lightly. "And we have more in common than you think." She pauses. "Probably like you and Richard have more in common than I know."
Chris stares at her. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"I don't know, you tell me. The last time I spoke to Richard, he basically told me that the two of you are very similar." He says nothing, and she shifts beneath his probing gaze. "He said he liked getting women drunk and I called him out on it, and he said you weren't any different."
"What did you say?"
"That you weren't, of course. What kind of a creep gets women drunk so they can--" She stops, that explicit memory bobbing to the surface of her thoughts.
Chris's face clears, and he shrugs. "Well, that's Richard. He's always been a dog." He's a little too glib, Miranda thinks, watching him not meet her eyes.
"While you've always been a paragon of morality?" She doesn't mean to say it, but she's spent too long suppressing what she wants to say to him. "I mean, you were watching them go at it, I seem to remember, and really enjoying it."
"I did enjoy it," he admits, looking her square in the face. "And so did you."
Her cheeks flush. "That's true, but..."
"But...?
"I wasn't really--into it. Not like..."
"Not like me? Is that what you mean, Miranda? That maybe you're thinking I like watching?" Chris puts his hands on her shoulders, squeezes. "What if I do? So fucking what?"
"Let go of me." Miranda reaches up and grabs his wrists. "I mean it, Chris. Let go."
His hands fall away, and she steps back too fast and forgets the couch is there and ends up on the cushions. He sits next to her, puts his hand on her leg. "Who doesn't like watching someone else get it on, Miranda? It's hot and it makes things that much hotter, am I right? I know you remember how incredible that night was." His hand slides up her thigh, fingers tickling. "We could do it again," he murmurs, watching her face.
She clamps her hand down on his, stopping its progress. "What? No! Sex should be private. It's not a spectator sport, Chris." He is quiet for an uncomfortably long time, as if sifting through things in his mind.
"All right," he says, leaning over to kiss her unresponsive lips. "No worries."
Their conversation comes to mind as she pushes open the door and steps into the coffee scented shop. She glances around, faltering when she sees Richard sitting with Lainey near the window. She really doesn't want to deal with him today. His eyes flicker over her without interest before returning to Lainey. She can't help noticing how the blue of his shirt brings out his eyes.
Miranda gets her coffee to go, then takes a deep breath. As she approaches the table, Richard speaks in Lainey's ear and gets up, still holding her hand. His expression is not friendly, his blue eyes cold, hard. Mean. He does not greet her.
Fine. Whatever. Miranda pulls out a chair and sits down. Lainey still hasn't looked at her.
"I'll be right over there," Richard murmurs, kissing Lainey's cheek, and then crosses the floor and takes a seat at a small table where he can watch them, which irritates Miranda. Can't the jerk leave them alone?
"What do you want?" Lainey's cold voice startles her out of her angry thoughts.
Taken aback, Miranda chooses her words carefully. "I miss you. I miss our talks, our laughter. I miss you, Lainey. You're my best friend."
Lainey sips from her cup, which Miranda knows is a café latte with an extra shot of espresso and extra whipped cream. Her nails are painted a more muted color than usual, a rust red. Richard's influence, no doubt. She's not wearing much makeup and it looks good, Miranda must admit. The other woman doesn't speak, simply looks at her with a cool expression.
"Lainey, how long are you going to hate me for that horrible thing I said? I'm sorry; I didn't mean it."
"I don't hate you. I'm not sure how I feel. Richard doesn't think you're much of a friend, and I'm thinking he might be right." Lainey gives her a pointed look.
"What does he know about our friendship? Nothing." Miranda fights the urge to trash Richard. "We've been friends for a long time. We shouldn't throw it away over a--a misunderstanding." She leans forward, speaks earnestly. "We can get past this if we try. Our friendship is important. I don't want something so trivial to drive a wedge between us."
"'Misunderstanding.' 'Trivial.' I don't agree with your choice of words, and I don't see how we can reconcile, because clearly, we have different views." Lainey glances toward Richard, then back.
Miranda's eyes burn. "But what if--what if we go slow? Like, the four of us meet for drinks or for a hike, something like that? Just where we can spend time together and get to know each other again. I know Chris will like you if we do."
"I don't care if Chris likes me or not, Miranda." Lainey's voice is dry. "That's not something I'm losing sleep over. But I will tell you what I do worry about: that Richard and Chris's friendship will fracture completely because of what's going on between us. That will not be a good thing. That friendship is the bedrock of Richard's entire being. If that crumbles..." She looks sad.
Miranda doesn't know what to say. As far as she's concerned, having Richard out of Chris's life would be a good thing. She supposes she should care, though, because Chris is upset over their fighting and it's making him grumpy.
"You don't care, though, do you, Miranda?" Lainey, as she's always been able to, picks up on Miranda's unspoken thoughts.
"I'm trying to care, Lainey, but Chris told me some stuff about Richard that really grossed me out."
"Oh, I bet he did." Lainey pushes her chair back. "Let me guess: that the scene at your house was all Richard's idea, right?"
"You don't think it was? Chris called him a dog and said he's always been like that, kind of--of gross." Miranda stutters at the expression on her friend's face. Lainey slams her palms down on the table.
"I can't believe you! Can't you see that Chris is just trying to make himself look good by making Richard the bad guy? God, Miranda. I never imagined you would be so blind. Chris and Richard--they have a history. A history of--of things that would make you cringe if I told you."
"What kind of things?" But Miranda already knows what Lainey's going to tell her. It takes all of her will to meet her friend's furious gaze.
"Sex things, Miranda, what do you think? You're so naïve. They planned for all of that to happen. They've done it many times before."
Miranda bites her lip, hearing the truth in her words, remembering the conversation with Chris. "I'm not going to let you turn this around on me and blame Chris. Why aren't you blaming Richard? He started all of it."
Lainey stares at her. "I can't do this anymore. I can't talk with someone so willfully ignorant and close minded."
She gets up from the table, her blue eyes shiny, her attention already on Richard, who appears beside them, her hand reaching for his. He doesn't even look at Miranda, he's all about the blond woman. It's as if Miranda doesn't even exist.
Miranda watches her friend's face light up and the tender expression on Richard's, and wonders if she's wrong about him. Wonders if Chris has been lying to her. He certainly has never looked at her like that before. The only thing she's ever seen in his face is lust. A little worm of jealousy wiggles in her gut, then the bottom drops out of her belly as her best friend leaves without another word or even a backwards glance. All their years of friendship, over. And why? Because of that fucking Richard. A fierce hate replaces the hollowness in her gut. This is all Richard's fault.
*****
It's not working.
The words are a constant refrain as she goes about each day, at work helping people with their phones, during her commute, and most of all when she walks through the door at home and Christopher barely looks up from whatever he's doing on his phone. Texting someone? But who?
It's hard not to contrast that with Lainey and how happy she is with Richard, which she still can't understand. How is it that she ended up with the short end of the stick when she was so sure Lainey was the one choosing wrong?
Tonight, when she gets home, there's an unfamiliar car in her spot, a compact Ford of some kind. She parks on the street and goes inside. As soon as she walks in, she smells an unfamiliar scent: a woman's perfume. Her pulse accelerates; what is she going to find? Her boyfriend pounding away at a strange woman in their bed? God, she hopes not.
"Hi, Chris," she calls, dropping her keys onto the table, making as much noise as possible. "Where are you?"
"In here," he calls back, and she follows his voice to the living room, where she finds him on the couch watching a movie. She purposely keeps from looking at the person beside him, the person sitting too close, the person--the woman who is encroaching on Miranda's man. She can feel the woman's eyes on her, and when she finally allows herself to look, she sees an attractive dark-haired woman with a sardonic smile. Her legs are tucked up beneath her, feet bare. Miranda can't stop staring at the woman's delicate feet, toenails painted a dark blue. Where the hell are her shoes?
Chris is waiting for her to explode, to scream, to do anything, but she's suddenly tired. Exhausted. Too tired to fight for a man who obviously doesn't care enough about her to even hide his cheating.
Miranda pulls up to Lainey's apartment building, her heart sinking when she sees that her window is dark, and her car is not in its space. Great. Now what? Of course, she's at Richard's, where else? She should have called. Now she must drive all the way across town to get to his condo, and the last thing she wants to be around him.
Still, she heads that way because she has nowhere else to go. She's not going back home until that slut is gone.
Miranda punches the buzzer and when she hears Lainey's voice, the relief is huge. "It's me. Can I--can I come up?"
"Why?"
Miranda suppresses her irritation with difficulty. "Chris and I had a terrible fight. Please, Lainey." Is it her imagination or is there a slight hesitation before the door clicks open? It's been at least a month since they last spoke, Miranda realizes with dismay. There'd been a few times she'd started to text Lainey, but then she'd chickened out. Fucking Richard. How she regrets introducing her to him! Yeah, he's hot, but he's a massive asshole, even though Lainey swears he isn't. As if she'd say any different, the woman's entire dating history consists of assholes.
Lainey's standing in the doorway of their condo when Miranda emerges from the elevator. She's wearing a dark blue T-shirt and black yoga pants. Her face is scrubbed clean of makeup, her blonde hair swept up in a messy ponytail. She looks happy. It's not fair, Miranda thinks, wondering when they'd switched places. Before, Lainey had been the one who tried too hard, who ran after men, the one who wore too much makeup, too little clothing, and now look at her: it's like she's had a complete makeover. She'd always come to Miranda for man advice, life advice, everything.
Now, standing in the dark kitchen beside her friend, the air conditioning blowing gently on her head, she doesn't know what to say. A dark blue ceramic bowl sits on the counter, a set of keys inside. The counters are granite, of course, the appliances stainless steel. The refrigerator hums, the air scented with the candle burning on the windowsill.
"When I got home tonight, there was a woman with him," Miranda begins.
Lainey seems a bit standoffish, leaning against the counter with her arms crossed.
